


Tell by Touch

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zaehlt
Genre: Alles was zählt - Freeform, Humor, M/M, Nipple Play, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman doesn't mind playing games, but he does mind being teamed up on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell by Touch

Roman hates his boyfriends. With a fervour. Both of them. With their smirks and conspiratorial grins and whispered conversations and innocent proposals of "fun games."

Not that he hates the games, of course. Especially not this one. He doesn't mind the scarf used as a blindfold, or the familiar smooth leather of the sling's straps holding his limbs in place. He doesn't mind the gentle sway of it, or the sensation of floating. He sure as hell doesn't mind being the centre of attention.

What he does mind is them teaming up on him – _again_ – thinking they're being clever and seductive when actually they're just being great big cock-teasing bullies.

Lips brush against his left nipple, not kissing, not doing anything much, just sort of… well, brushing. Roman clenches his teeth, trying to stay still even as his hips automatically jerk up, his untouched cock bobbing indignantly against his stomach, where a thin smear of pre-come is forming. They've been doing this – taking turns on his nipples, making him guess – for surely no more than ten minutes, and he's good and ready to murder them both. Messily.

The lips on his chest don't move any further, just repeat the maddeningly gentle back and forth swipe. Teasing _.  
_  
"Stop… grinning," he manages through gritted teeth, and the mouth withdraws to the sounds of suppressed sniggering.

"You can't see," Deniz's voice points out, logically. "You can't tell if we're grinning."

"I could _feel_ it," Roman retorts, annoyed. "And Marc, that was you. Stubble. You could at least make it a _bit_ challenging for me, you know."

There's a brief silence, followed by murmurs – Deniz grumbling something about _could've shaved, dude,_ and Marc sounding sheepish, _didn't know what we'd be up to, did I._

Roman rolls his eyes and tugs on the restraints around his wrists for the dozenth time. There's motion above him and he stills automatically, listening hard. A slight waft of air on his chest is his only warning before a pair of lips fastens on his nipple – the right one, but that doesn't mean anything, since whoever it is is leaning in far from the same side as Marc did. Even so…

"Deniz," he says decisively, recognising the pressure of full lips, and then a little bit later, when there's a sharp scrape of teeth, he hisses and bucks, setting the sling to rocking. "Deniz again."

Silence, and a moment's respite, and then a tongue flickering on his other nipple, quick butterfly motions, each sending a hot little swelling rush to his groin.

"Deniz _again_ ," he manages, and takes a dim bit of pride in the hiss of frustration as the body leaning over him straightens up.

"How can you always tell?" Deniz demands, sounding frustrated, and Roman grins blindly in his general direction, even though there's a maddening, tugging ache in his nipples and his cock is pulsing with his need to be touched.

"Because you're both utterly devoid of finesse, that's why… argh!" He arches in earnest, increasing the rocking motion of the sling, when there's the sudden clamp of fingers, four on each nipple, plucking with deliberate roughness at the already sensitised nubs. Through the haze of over-stimulation, he nevertheless recognises the barely-there hint of callus on the finger pads.

"Marc," he gasps, then throttles a scream when the fingers _pinch_ , just slightly, just enough to send dark-hot sparks from his taut nipples to his cock, just enough to make all the muscles in his legs tense and his toes curl. His buttocks clench instinctively, but there's nothing to clench around or move against, with his arms and legs held fast by the leather straps and his entire body a tight arch of frustration. All the touching that could be done, and more – he could have Marc fucking him right now with Deniz's talented mouth wrapped around his cock, and instead here he is, ridiculously suspended in mid-air with nothing to show for the last god-knows-how-many-minutes but a pair of sore tits and the urge to kill both the men he loves.

With all the spite he can muster, he feigns a yawn and a lazy stretch. "You know, you two really _suck_ at this," he states, with no small pride in how detached his voice sounds, how bored.

There's a murmured curse somewhere to his left – Deniz, he thinks, and is glad they're not asking about _that –_ and then, without further warning, a double assault: two pairs of lips, hot and damp, two tongues curling around his nipples, four hands dancing in teasing circles on his chest, fingers flicking the swollen nubs, by turns playful and rough.

"Not fair," he growls in protest, then hisses when, as if at some hidden prompt, they both close their lips on a nipple each and suck, hard. He thrashes in his restraints, or tries to, but there's no escape from the near-painful shots of pleasure that start with the hot tug of their mouths and end with the twitching, mid-air jab of his neglected cock. He tries to think through the insistent, pulling ache of his chest and groin and comes up blank; then he remembers the cursing, and flat out gambles.

"Deniz, you’re left. Marc… ah… right."

They withdraw as suddenly as they started, leaving him hard and dizzy. Silence descends. It makes him nervous. He tries not to move and strains his ears but there's no whisper, not even any annoying chuckling going on. Then suddenly, there's Marc's mouth again, his stubble surprisingly soft against Roman's right ear as he murmurs, low and warm, "Okay, Roman. Guess _this_ , and you can set the rules for the rest of the night _._ "

He lifts his head, intrigued, and braces for the next assault, but there's nothing, not so much as a breath of air against his expectant skin. He's so focused on anticipating touch that it takes him a moment to recognise the _sounds_ : tightly controlled breathing, low but rising fast; the rasp of skin on skin, accelerating into a soft kind of sliding, slapping noise even as he listens.

Oh, those _bastards_.

"Oh, you _bastards_ ," he snarls, giving in to the urge to struggle wildly in his bonds for a moment. Chains clink; leather creaks; the sling holds him tight, of course, and his efforts only diffuse the sounds he needs to identify if he's to win this game. He forces himself to grow still and listen. It's no good; they're both breathing harshly, and the rhythmic noise of someone's hand pumping someone's cock betrays nothing.

"You said _touch_!" he accuses, barely reining in the instinct to roll his own hips again despite the lack of anything to roll against. "You said nipples. This is totally…"

"I know what… we said." Deniz's voice, deepened and rough with urgency. "Just… wait."

Roman waits, taking in the repeat hitch as air catches in Marc's throat; as Deniz growls something that might be a word, or might not be; as the slapping noise grows kind of slidey, kind of slick. He wonders if it's possible to come like this, untouched, just from listening to someone else get off. At this point, he'd settle for that.

A final ragged intake of breath, a suspended second of near-perfect silence. Then he flinches as something hits his skin. Wetness splatters warmly across his chest, slicking his swollen nipples, sliding down his ribs, and even then it takes him a moment to get it.

"Okay, now that's just _mean_ ," he half-groans, before that first second of stunned impact catches up with him: the warm spray of come aimed primarily at his chest, yes, but… He dabs his tongue furtively into the corner of his mouth, because he thought – yes, there it is, a tiny stray drop that landed just to the left of his mouth. His tongue swipes it up, testing the flavour. "Deniz," he says immediately, and feels more than a little smug at their stunned silence.

"Now that is uncanny," murmurs Marc.

"You cheated!" Deniz accuses, still slightly breathless, and Roman bares his teeth towards the sound of his voice. "Did not. The rule was to guess. No one specified how."

An uncertain moment of silence, and then Marc laughs, a deep, affectionate sound that does funny things to Roman's already overtaxed nether regions. "Fair enough."

Afternoon light rushes into his eyes when the blindfold is suddenly removed. Roman blinks up at Marc, whose smile is sweet and flushed and amused. Deniz is still slumped against his side, loose-limbed and glowing with his recent orgasm; his dark lashes are half lowered over his eyes and Marc's arm is wrapped firmly around his hips, and Roman would go on hating them both until the end of time if they weren't so damn _pretty.  
_  
He considers only for a second. "First of all, you can untie me," he directs, addressing Marc. "Then _you_ can get on your knees," he adds to Deniz, who slowly and unconsciously licks his lips. Roman rattles the restraints around his wrists, urging them to get on with it. "And then we'll determine how good you two are at flavours."


End file.
